


first hurt

by aloneatsea



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F!Byleth, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, minor plot spoilers?, soft angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-10 18:48:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20856530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aloneatsea/pseuds/aloneatsea
Summary: Byleth wanders the monastery like a ghost. It's hard to know how to heal what doesn't feel like a wound.





	first hurt

**Author's Note:**

> my first attempt at fe3h fic!! i really loved byleth as an MC so i wrote this as a short study on how byleth might think and react to the world around them, especially after Jeralt's death. no route is assumed here; it can be whichever you like.

It hurts.

Not like the scratch of a sword, or the gouge of an axe, or white-hot burn of magic. In her chest, but not like when she fainted, either. It doesn’t hurt like Sothis. It hurts like Jeralt. It hurts like Dad, and it’s never hurt like this before.

Byleth can dress a wound, and maybe she even knows a little healing magic, but she doesn’t know how to fix this kind of hurt.

When she’s spent three days locked away in her rooms, she grows tired of that, too, and paces the monastery in the evening, when few are around. She knows how uncomfortable it makes the others – the students, especially – to see her like this. Dorothea said as much. Ingrid didn’t say it, but she meant it.

“I’m sorry, professor,” Manuela says, on the one occasion Byleth turns up out at the infirmary. She doesn’t know how she got there either. “There’s no cure for what you’re going through but time.”

Manuela shakes her head, sadly, like it’s a silly question. Byleth wouldn’t know. This is all new.

“I presume you haven’t lost anyone before?” she asks, furrowing her brow just a little, tilting her head just a little. She’s worried.

“Sometimes we’d lose mercenaries from our team. I never knew them very well.”

Reaching out her hand, Manuela places a thumb on Byleth’s cheek, wiping away a stray tear. A thin, sorrowful smile crosses her face. Byleth stares emptily at her. She didn’t even realise she was crying again.

“Grief is a beast we must all face eventually,” Manuela says, shifting her hand to the top of Byleth’s head and rubbing gently. “It never appears when we’re ready for it, either. As a physician, there’s nothing I can do for you. However, as a colleague, I can take some of your workload this month, and as a friend, I can lend you a shoulder when you need to cry.”

Byleth blinks and Manuela’s wrapped her arms around her – a hug. Some of the mercenaries embraced her briefly when they’d won a tough battle, but not like this. Manuela is warm, soft, and there’s a tenderness to her tone that wraps around Byleth like a snug blanket. Security is the closest word she has to describe it.

“When you first arrived, I was surprised to see you were so young. I thought for sure that Jeralt was to be our new professor. Yet, within days you had us more than impressed with your skill and capacity to teach. I think somewhere along the way, Hanneman and I had forgotten just how young you were,” Manuela says, running her hands up and down Byleth’s back. There’s a rhythm to it that feels soothing, somehow. It’s like falling asleep in a horse-drawn cart on a smooth road.

“What I mean to say is,” Manuela continues, “you can rely on us. We’ll cover what we can for you. For now, if you want to sleep, you should sleep. If you want to eat, you should eat. If you want to cry, you should cry.”

Byleth thinks about how wet Manuela’s shoulder must be when she leaves the infirmary. Her stomach aches, and it’s probably because she hasn’t eaten all day. Her chest aches, but according to Manuela, that’s okay.

She doesn’t register anyone on her way to the dining hall, but when she enters the kitchen, Ashe is there.

“Professor!” he says, shock evident on his face, but he hides it well. That’s his attempt at kindness, perhaps. “Are you holding up alright? How are you feeling?”

“Hungry,” Byleth says, taking to a pot and scooping chickpeas inside. There’s not much in the way of ingredients, but there’s enough.

“Oh! Um, if you’re hungry, I can help you cook if you’d like! My parents used to own a restaurant, so I know my way around a kitchen.”

There’s just enough sincerity in Ashe’s voice that gives Byleth pause. She’d never even considered it, really.

“I’d like that,” she says, and Ashe’s face lights up.

“Great! Um, let’s see, with chickpeas we can make…”

Just like that, his discomfort melts away, and Ashe is back to his bubbly, lively self. He’s animated as he speaks, suggesting this and that and demonstrating far more skill than Byleth’s meagre fireside grilling abilities. It’s like the act of helping her is helping him, in some way.

When they’re finished, it actually tastes _good_, and Byleth is fairly sure it’s not a coincidence, like most of her good cooking is. Ashe joins her for their meal, and for the first time, things feel a little normal. Like she’s back to being a normal professor. Like her students respect her again. It’s strange. She never would have expected it to be like that. The only person that she’s ever relied on is Jeralt. 

When they finish, Ashe wishes her good night, and heads off back to his room. Considering it – this is the first time she’s eaten with someone in days. The rest of her meals have been brought to her, by Manuela, by Hanneman, by the students, and even by Alois. They’d never stay, though. They assumed she wanted to be left alone, and Byleth assumed they were right.

Even so, seeing someone smile at her again makes it hurt a little less. If the fastest way back to being a good professor was to let her students help _her_ this time, then she could do that.


End file.
